Foolish Mortals Fear the Truth
by usakiwigirl
Summary: The Rift is quiet, Jack's paperwork is multiplying behind his back and Ianto is reading old files in the Archives.


_Written for Challenge 15 of **redisourcolor**. It's crossover week, to celebrate the start of the new Doctor Who season. The words are **dogma, incommodious, and waltzing**. The sentence is a quote from Shakespeare - any quote, our choice. Mine is from A Midsummer Night's Dream, my favourite comedy: **A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing**. Yeah, so about that crossover thing - might have fudged it a bit. More like - **talked** about the Doctor, as opposed to having him actually show up in the story. Sorry, but I'm just not comfortable writing him._

_Disclaimer: All characters belong to RTD and the BBC. No copyright infringement is intended._

The silence in the office was near oppressive, as Jack leant over the desk and tried valiantly to concentrate on the mission logs for the previous week. Paperwork - never his favourite thing to do - always seemed to collect in his in-tray as if through a hole in the Rift, multiplying like Tribbles as it fed on moments of calm. Whenever the Rift pitched a fit, and started tossing debris at the Torchwood team with no regard for sleep, or relationships, or even regular feeding schedules, his inbox stayed empty. It was only on those few days of absolute boredom, when having nothing to do would be a blessing, that the piles seemed to grow exponentially larger whenever he blinked.

The mission reports finished, Jack glanced at the tray, hoping that it had been miraculously vanished while his head was down. Instead, the three files he knew that had already been nestled in the bottom of the tray, were cuddled seductively with four new bedfellows. It was fanciful, and could no doubt be blamed entirely on a lack of caffeine, but he swore that in the silence of his office, he could hear them whispering sweet nothings at each other, perhaps in a bid to facilitate an influx of files in perpetuity. Budgets breeding with requisition forms to make little supply list sheets. He wouldn't put it past them. This was Torchwood, after all.

Thinking of caffeine, his hand automatically reached for his coffee cup - which was cold and empty. He glanced at his watch - 4:15pm. Where the hell was Ianto? Coffee should have been delivered - he looked at his watch again - oh, two hours ago. Well, a refill was definitely in order. Jack, however, through vicious trial and error, knew better than to take on the coffee machine himself. There was always instant, but as that was a last minute, last ditch, oh-God-Ianto-better-get-well-soon resort, he rather thought it might be in his best interest to look for his errant Archivist instead.

Knowing that Ianto was likely to be in one of two places, and not really feeling like traipsing up the stairs to the Tourist Office only to be disappointed, Jack quickly checked the CCTV - the small public area was deserted, as was the tiny office space behind the beaded curtain. That left the Archives. Satisfied that he was at least reasonably sure where Ianto was located, he dropped his pen onto the blotter and pushed the chair back. He groaned as he stood, his back muscles protesting the movement after being still so long.

The others - Gwen, Tosh and Owen - didn't even spare him a glance as he made his way out of the main area of the Hub. Tosh was too engrossed in whatever programme she was currently running to notice him leaving, so that was no real surprise. Gwen and Owen, however, wouldn't have noticed the TARDIS materialising in front of them - they were both sound asleep, Gwen curled up on the sofa, her head pillowed on her arm, Owen with his face stuck to the keyboard in front of him. The sight was almost worth stopping and taking a photo - Ianto would love to have such an image to use as leverage against the acerbic medic.

As Jack reached for his phone to snap a quick shot, Tosh's quiet voice rang out from the desks behind him.

"I've already taken one, Jack. I sent it to Ianto about five minutes ago. He was quite appreciative. Said he'd buy me something nice as a thank you." She sounded just a little smug - and rightly so. It wasn't often that she was able to get one up on Owen.

"Thanks, Tosh. Ianto is down in the Archives, then?"

"Yes. You could have called him - you have a comm. for a reason, or so you're always reminding him."

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that? If I called him, then he'd know I was looking for him. This way, I can surprise him."

Tosh looked at him with one eyebrow raised, a look she'd picked up from Ianto. "You really think you can sneak up on Ianto in his own domain? Bit delusional, that, Jack. Ianto always knows where you are."

Jack said nothing, choosing to ignore the truth of the statement rather than try and fight it. Instead, he turned and made his way toward the exit, only looking back at Tosh just before disappearing. "Oh, and Tosh? Don't you dare call ahead to him!"

"I promise - although I bet he already knows. He always knows."

Shaking his head, Jack continued. She was right and he knew it. Somehow, Ianto was always one step ahead of him, at least around the Hub. Torchwood was his, even more than Jack's, who'd been part of it for more than one hundred years. Practically living in the Archives as he sorted them out meant that Ianto had access to information that Jack had never even seen, or been privy to. There were times where he'd had no part of Torchwood, when he'd made himself scarce - World War Two being the most obvious. There were just too many of him running rampant around Cardiff. The potential for a paradox of World Ending proportions were just too great.

Then, too, the dogma that Torchwood followed in those days had eaten at his soul, forcing him to flee before he committed some terrible act against misguided innocents. That doctrine of 'The Doctor is our enemy', when he knew full well that he saved the Earth, over and over, never once staying to hear thank you, while Torchwood was desperately trying to capture him - he'd always had to restrain himself from actively hurting somebody.

Rounding the corner into the innermost area of the Archives, somewhere between weaponry of the 25th century through to the early 30th, a disembodied voice rang out from behind one of the towering shelving units.

"There's a fresh pot of coffee over by my desk, Jack, if you're looking. Otherwise, what can I do for you?"

"How the hell did you know it was me? I could have been Owen, or Gwen-" Jack began, his voice betraying just a hint of the pout that graced his face as he made his way towards Ianto's voice.

"Jack, I always know when it's you. You should know that by now."

"Well, yeah - but how? Even when I'm quiet, you still know." Jack was genuinely curious now, his mild fit of pique forgotten.

"Same way I know when it's one of the others. I pay attention. Tosh wears heels - they make a very distinctive sound when she walks. Gwen and Owen rarely come down here, but when they do, they each sound different. Gwen favours boots with slightly chunky heels - she's louder than Tosh. Owen wears regular shoes with a soft sole, plus he's pretty light on his feet."

"Are you saying I'm not?" Jack was a little outraged at this perceived smear on his character. Yes, he could, and frequently did, swagger about as if he owned the world, boots pounding the ground as if hell bent on leaving a permanent impression of his passing. But he was also quite capable of being as light on his feet as a… well, maybe not a ballerina, but at least as light as Owen.

"It's not how heavy you walk. You could sneak down here three hours before me and I'd still know."

"How-"

"Stop standing there looking like a landed fish. Come and sit beside me and I might tell you."

Jack closed his mouth with a snap. He still wasn't in line of sight of Ianto, yet once again, the man had called him out - accurately. He walked around behind one of the large shelves to find Ianto sitting on an old sofa that he'd tucked up into a corner. The space was incommodious, at best, but somehow, he'd managed it. TARDIS-type technology, perhaps? Jack wouldn't put it past Ianto to have found something in the Archives that would help him manoeuvre a large sofa into a tiny space. A precarious pile of folders and loose papers was stacked on a small camp table he'd set up in front on him, with more folders piled on the floor at his feet. He looked up from the papers he was reading and smiled, patting the sofa beside him with one hand.

"Seriously - how do you do that?"

Ianto smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking in a way that made Jack want to lean in and nip at his lips until he begged, what for, he didn't care.

"I know everything, Jack. Also, there's a mirror above you, let's me see when somebody is coming into the Archives." He pointed up at the corner of the room, where a medium size convex mirror was hanging. It wasn't brand new, not judging by the amount of tarnish spotting the edges, but Jack had never noticed it before now.

"How long-"

"Oh, at least twenty or thirty years, judging from the amount of cobwebs on it when I first came down here. Probably why you never saw it before me."

"And that's how you always know who it is?"

"Mostly." Ianto shrugged one shoulder, as if to imply that there might be more, but he wasn't up to talking about it.

Jack made his way to Ianto and sat down, probably closer than propriety allowed, but Ianto didn't say a word, not even with one of his impossibly eloquent eyebrows. He merely shifted his weight to allow for the sagging in the old cushions until they were comfortably pressed up against each other, touching from knee to shoulder, heat radiating in waves through their bodies.

"So, what has you so pre-occupied this afternoon. I know you love a little uninterrupted time to work on the old files, but I haven't seen you for hours!" Jack was exaggerating and he knew it. Ianto had, of course, been in his office a little over two hours previously, when he'd dropped off the last cup of coffee. He'd even managed to sneak in a little groping and kissing before Ianto had wriggled out of his arms and escaped, pointing a stern finger behind him with a muttered threat of decaf and denial. As either option wasn't, in Jack's firm opinion, he'd merely raised his hands in defeat and smiled his sweetest smile, putting every ounce of sincerity he could behind it.

"Just going through these old files before putting them away. Interesting reading, they are."

Jack pressed even closer, peering over Ianto's shoulder at the papers in his hand. "The Doctor, huh? You could have asked me, if you had any questions." He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice, both at Ianto reading the files in apparent secrecy, and pushing the old pain away from the Doctor's less-than-pleasant words the last time he'd seen him.

"I know. These are from older cases, when you weren't always here. Torchwood used to keep very close eye on him, even when he was working with Unit and had the authority of the government and the Crown. It's all here - these papers in particular are from Torchwood One. I never had access to these when I worked there, and haven't had the time since I've been here."

"I always meant to go through them myself, after Owen and Suzie brought them back, but something always seemed to come up. Anything interesting, or new?" Jack was curious himself, to know just how damning the reports from Torchwood were. He'd heard the talk - Torchwood had rattled off little less over the last century - but to see it on paper would be altogether different.

"Well, the reports are very biased, of course. A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing."

"Not sure I follow."

"Shakespeare quote - you've heard of him, yeah?"

"Funny. What does that have to do with the Doctor?"

"Well, even when he comes waltzing in and saves the day, they're still acting like it's the end of the world and we would have been better off without him. Having lived through Daleks and Cybermen personally, I have to disagree."

"Well, he can be a bit heavy-handed. Not to mention arrogant and snobbish."

Ianto turned his head to look at Jack, which was harder than he'd realised it would be. Jack's head was much closer than he thought, forcing him to lean his body away so he could focus clearly.

"Did I just hear that right? You actually said something negative about your Doctor?"

"He's not perfect, Ianto, I know this. He's brilliant, caring, funny, quirky, annoying, arrogant, a pain in the ass, child-like - sometimes I want to kiss him-" Jack saw Ianto's eyebrow raise, and back-pedalled quickly, "-not like that! I don't think of him that way, haven't for a long time, years, since long before you, I swear! I just meant I want to kiss him like a friend, or smack some sense into him!"

Ianto snorted. Jack was lying, or at least bending the truth to a point close to snapping, and they both knew it. He chose to ignore it, however, as Jack had chosen to return to Cardiff to be with _him_, rather than remain with the Doctor when he had the chance. Let them both stew on that!

"Nice save, Jack. Lucky it's not a girl you're currently shagging, or you'd be grovelling for weeks for a fuck-up that monumental."

"Don't I know-hey, stop that! Jeez, Ianto."

Ianto laughed, deciding to let Jack off the hook - for now. He wasn't a girl, and wouldn't drag it out every time he was pissed off at Jack, but he reserved the right to bring it up again if he needed leverage in the future. Any advantage he could garner was to be carefully saved and banked, with compounded interest. It was the closest thing to a retirement fund he had.

He stood up, putting one hand down on Jack's thigh as he moved to indicate he should stay seated. He carefully picked up the small camp table and lifted it out of the way, putting the files and papers he'd been looking at on top of the already wobbly pile. Walking back to the sofa, he bent down and shuffled the small stack on the floor around the side, out of the way of stray feet, then turned back to Jack.

Jack recognised the look in his eyes as he smiled down at him. He reached out a hand for Ianto to grasp, letting him use his leverage to haul him to his feet. He slipped his arms around his waist, tugging him closer until their faces were only centimetres apart.

"I think, Jones, Ianto Jones, that this would be a good time to send everybody home."

"They'll know exactly why you're doing it."

"Do you care?"

"No. Just thought I'd mention it, is all. You want supper here, or at mine?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Jack, that's not exactly an answer."

"Sure it is. Oh, you were talking about food. We can eat at yours - later." Jack closed the distance, touching his lips to Ianto's with a sweet caress that held more than a promise of blazing passion behind it. He deliberately kept it light, knowing how easy it would be to let things get out of control. It never took much, not with Ianto. Only a nudge and they would tumble back onto the sofa, with all thoughts of leaving for the day

He pulled away reluctantly, leaving a slightly breathless Ianto in his wake. Stepping completely out of reach, he turned and started on his way up to the Hub proper.

Just before he disappeared completely, he turned back to Ianto. "I'll meet you-"

"Don't worry about it, Jack. I'll find you. Standard time, in ten?"

Jack just shook his head. He still didn't know how Ianto was able to locate him and he doubted he ever would. He was content, however, to let it remain a mystery. It was part of the charm of the man - far be it for him to interfere, or ruin what was an integral part of what drew him to Ianto in the first place. Owen, and maybe Gwen, might find it hard to believe, but Jack wasn't with Ianto because he looked good in a suit. Well, not just because he looked good. He was the complete package, the real deal, and while Jack knew it would hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt to lose him, every moment he had was precious and worth savouring.

And savouring was exactly what he planned to do - tonight, tomorrow and for as long as he was able.

End


End file.
